


Soren and the Skrimir

by Kirrifish



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anger Management, Crack, Disney Parody, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Inspired by Beauty and the Beast, M/M, Parody, Skrimir can't take no for an answer, Skrimir deafens everyone, Temper Tantrums, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22128613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrifish/pseuds/Kirrifish
Summary: Parodies of scenes from Disney's Beauty and the Beast.
Relationships: Senerio | Soren & Skrimir, Senerio | Soren/Skrimir
Kudos: 13





	1. Dinner Request

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Disney's Beauty and the Beast and a whimsical conversation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skrimir has a request for Soren.
> 
> With special appearances by Lumière!Ranulf, Mrs. Potts!Kyza, and Cogsworth!Lethe. Skrimir's default speaking voice sits at a cool 100 decibels.

Skrimir paced in front of the fireplace for so long his garments grew heavy and clung to him with sweat. This restlessness, foreign and tiresome, irked him as much as the doors to the entrance hall that refused to open. "It's no use." He raked a hand through his hair and snarled at his subordinates. "He's so smart, and I'm... well, LOOK AT ME!"

Standing before him, Ranulf and Kyza exchanged looks.

"You must help him to see past all that," Kyza spoke first.

"I don't know how," Skrimir grunted dismissively, whirling and continuing his well-trodden path in front of the fireplace. His limbs tingled with a bizarre, itchy nervousness that grew with every step he took; he hated this feeling and the way it made his hair stand on end. Even his therapeutic activity of choice -- training -- hadn’t made him feel better, and training always made him feel better.

"Well," Kyza continued, affecting a professional tone and pushing up his sleeves in a business-like manner, "you could start by making yourself more presentable. Straighten up! Try to act like a gentleman."

Ranulf joined in without missing a beat. "Ah, yes. When he comes in, give him a dashing, debonair smile," he said grandly, grinning from ear to ear as if the expression could somersault from his face to Skrimir’s. "Come, come, show me the smile!"

Skrimir pulled back his lips and gave them his best smile. Somehow, they didn’t look impressed, their expressions of enthusiasm hardening like carved wooden masks that Gallian cubs played with.

Kyza recovered quickly and pushed on. "But don't frighten the poor boy."

"Impress him with your rapier wit!" Ranulf suggested. Skrimir drank in their advice like water from the sweetest river, nodding enthusiastically.

"But be gentle."

"Show him with confidence!"

"But be sincere."

At this point Skrimir was growing dizzy looking back and forth between them; he clutched at his shaggy head just as Ranulf finished, "But above all..."

"YOU MUST CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!" the two of them bellowed in his face.

The door knob rattled, silencing them all at once.

“There he is!” Ranulf whispered. Skrimir looked up expectantly, not daring to breathe as he watched one of the doors creak open and expose the darkness in the corridor beyond.

A figure slinked through. "Good evening," intoned Lethe.

Skrimir frowned. "Well? Where is he?"

"Who? Oh, the boy,” she said, and for some reason she was not looking at him. “Yes, the...boy. Actually, he's in the process of... circumstances being what they are, you... He's not coming."

There was a pregnant pause.

_**"WHAT???!!!???!!!???!!???"** _

The doors crashed open and Skrimir tore through the foyer with Ranulf, Lethe, and Kyza on his heels. They were shouting after him but not a word of it reached his ears as he cleared the banister in one leap.

The door to Soren’s room rushed up to meet him; he smashed at it with three earthshaking knocks.

**"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN TO DINNER!”**

"I'm not hungry!" the little beorc boy’s voice rang out, thin yet steel-like.

Skrimir looked around wildly -- not hungry? The boy hadn't eaten all day!

"You'll come out or I'll... **I'LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!** "

"Skrimir,” came Ranulf’s voice from behind him, and he sounded so exasperated that Skrimir turned to look at him, “I could be wrong, but uh, that may not be the best way to win the boy's affections."

"Please,” said Lethe, her eyes narrowed and her tail swishing up a storm, “ _attempt_ to be a gentleman."

Skrimir gestured at the door as if it had personally insulted him and every forefather that came before him. "But he is being so...DIFFICULT."

"Gently, gently..." Kyza whispered.

Skrimir grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Will you come down to dinner."

"No," came the swift reply.

Eyes wide, Skrimir pointed at the door -- the boy had given his answer, surely his subordinates couldn't have missed that! -- but Lethe was shaking her head. "Suave...genteel."

Mustering all his willpower, he turned back to the unyielding door and proclaimed, speaking very slowly and enunciating very clearly, "It would give me great pleasure...if you would join me for dinner." He looked back at the other three: Ranulf, who was giving him the faintest of nods; Lethe, who was finally holding her tail still; Kyza, who was wringing his hands. "...please."

"No thank you," snapped the mage, and something inside Skrimir broke.

"You can't stay in there forever!"

"Yes I can!"

"Fine!" he roared. "Then go ahead and **STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARVE!!!!!!!!!!!** " He spun in a blind rage, all but flattening his subordinates. "If he doesn't eat with me...then he doesn't eat AT ALL."

And before any of them could utter another word, he bolted down the corridor and slammed the door with a force that shook the castle’s foundations.


	2. Dinner Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skrimir is injured and Soren tends to him.

Skrimir eyed the bobbing orb warily as it inched closer to him, guided by small, delicate hands. He was licking his wound clean -- an agelong treatment in the beast clan, but the mage didn't seem satisfied. Soren lifted the staff above his head with a flourish; the light glowed pale blue. "Here."

Skrimir's lip curled as he nudged away, cradling his injured arm. Soren's face was impassive. "Don't do that."

Skrimir snarled threateningly. Soren's eyes narrowed, but the staff pushed closer still. "Just...hold...still," he enunciated slowly, matching Skrimir's evasive squirms with effortless alacrity. Skrimir erupted in a bloodcurdling roar that shook the dust from the ceiling. "THAT HURTS!"

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much," Soren said, a strain in his voice.

"If you hadn't run away this wouldn't have happened!" Skrimir snapped in his face.

"If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run away."

The mage's voice had risen in sudden emotion. Skrimir opened his mouth but no sound came. He seemed to be at a loss for words. Could it be? Was it his imagination, or had a shred of unease appeared in those unblinking crimson eyes? Soren crossed his arms, and Skrimir seized his opportunity. "Well, YOU shouldn't have been in the West WING."

"Well, YOU should learn to control your temper."

Now he was definitely lost for words. He could not say anything to counter accusations against his temper because deep down, he knew they were all true. A faint voice in his head chastised him for bothering to put up a fight. He could never out-argue Soren. Defeated, he sat back in his plush chair, chin in hand, and glared in the opposite direction.

The orb poured forth with an incandescence so vivid it could have blinded his peripheral vision. "Now hold still." Soren’s voice was back to its usual stoic, emotionlessly polite quality. "This might sting."

The pain dug deep into his nerves, and Skrimir was hardly able to choke his roar of pain. The wound seared with a blistering agony, as if flames were licking his very bones. His jaws ground together; his hair stood on end. This time, though, he obediently kept still.

He was rewarded; it felt as if a cool breeze was being applied to his wound. Mint on his injury. Little by little, the pain began to fade. The flames began to extinguish. "By the way..." the impassive voice intoned softly, "thank you…for saving my life."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Skrimir opened his eyes. Flicked his ears. Stared at the mage, who was looking back with an unreadable expression. Already, the wound seemed smaller.

"You're welcome," he mumbled.


End file.
